Tiptree
by the.subverter
Summary: Aeian T'Goni and Neaira arrive at Tiptree to help with the evacuation. Based on the PTSD soldier story at Huerta Memorial.
1. Neaira

A/N: I would say that one of my favorite parts about Mass Effect 3 was the conversations that could be overheard. The war stories that made everything about the game so depressing and tragic (otherwise known as my cup-o-tea). One of my favorites was the PTSD soldier at Huerta Memorial- Aeian T'Goni, Neaira and what you later learn (if you connect the dots) is Joker's younger sister, Hilary. I had this ambitious idea to flesh out the 7 minutes of story Aeian tells the nurse. I wrote half of this months ago before picking it up again last week.

* * *

"Think we'll find any survivors?" Neaira asks.

"I hope so." Aeian T'Goni grabs onto the handlebar as the shuttle rocks violently, barely keeping herself from slamming into Neaira. Aeian hopes that in time her feelings for Neaira will fade. It's been nearly two hundred years now. "We're Commandos. When we signed up for this did you ever think we'd be running rescue missions for refugees in the Reaper war?"

Neaira smiles, the markings on her pale purple face making her look all the more alluring. "When I joined the Commandos all I thought about was kicking ass and getting ass," she rolls her eyes, flitting briefly on Aeian before clearing her throat gently and looking away. "Things change. We'll get in, save who we can and get out."

"I just keep thinking—shouldn't we be on Thessia?"

"Ever since humans got on the Council they've had some weight to pull. Maybe if that Spectre Shepard wasn't involved we could focus on our homeworld." She sighs. "But come on, you signed up for adventure, didn't you?"

"Reapers weren't part of my 'adventure' plans." She shakes her head, shakes the thoughts. Doing rescue runs is no doubt easier than fighting the forefront of a Reaper war. She's heard krogans and turians talk about the asari, hell, even the salarians don't think asari should be on the frontlines. Guerilla tactics don't really stand up to Reapers.

"You scared, T'Goni?" Samira asks. Aeian looks at her. Samira is young, new to the Commandos and eager to prove herself. She's always ready with a smart-assed comment and a display of bravado. Usually, she's a pain in the ass. "I'm not letting any mindless husks take me out. We've got biotics and guns, lots of guns."

"And they're still wiping us out," Aeian returns. She grips the handlebar more tightly and parts her lips, ready with more when Neaira touches her shoulder. The contact, brief and light is enough to silence her. She smiles gratefully. Neaira returns the smile. Aeian thinks that under different circumstances, if Neaira weren't an ardat-yakshi, they might have something together. Neaira never said so but Aeian recalls their near kiss, the blackness of her eyes, how Neaira disappeared for years before returning and telling her about her…condition.

"We may be commandos but we can't get cocky. Not with this," Neaira tells Samira. "We're fighting something that's never been seen, not even by the matriarchs. We've got to be careful. No showing off. We get the refugees and we get out."

Samira stands and looks out the shuttle window. "What's Tiptree, anyway?" She looks below. Aeian stares out the windows as best as she can. Green grass, rectangular buildings dot the landscape but no fires, no Reapers. None that she can see. "Farmers? Maybe we can get some decent food."

"Tired of MREs?" Neaira asks. "What kind of commando are you?" Samira scowls. Neaira looks at Aeian and winks.

Aeian smiles. "I just want a shower."

The shuttle begins its descent.

* * *

There are no fires but brutes and marauders run the plains. The similar flush of excitement takes over, fear fueled by adrenaline. Aeian is off the shuttle before it has settled, assault rifle at the ready, pulling the trigger to fire in bursts of three. Neaira and Samira are at her side as the other huntresses spread out.

The Reapers tools are spreading. Aeian wonders if the Reapers change them and transport them. They're turian, aren't they? The marauders, the brutes—how horrible. She can't imagine fighting whatever thing the Reapers would pervert her own people into.

Bullets tear through the air, gleaming in the bright, sunny day. The air is fresh, appropriately cool. It's only when she takes a deep breath that she finds the smell of decay beneath the grass. A huntress falls with a shriek that is violently cut away. Aeian doesn't look; she knows she can't.

A marauder head splits open at the stream of bullets that crack into its skull before the body falls over lifeless. There's shouting all around her and she sprints, diving forward and rolling out of the way of a charging brute. She's horrified when another one looms before her.

An arm, the size of two of her swings as she lies on the ground. Her eyes widen at a loud crash, at the splintering sound like glass. Neaira stands behind her, holding up a barrier, her lips thin in concentration. Goddess. She must have pulled it out of thin air in milliseconds—but she can't sustain it, not for long.

Aeain jumps to her feet and pulls the rocket launcher from her back, a clumsy, heavy piece of equipment that she's never fired. It's clunky in her arms and she's afraid that she's wasting it but the metal plating on the brute is solid and the force field Neaira's erected can't last much longer. He's almost on top of them.

"On three," Aeian says, feeling the tension of her muscles, the rigidity of her arms. This is a matter of trust. Neaira nods. The barrier comes down. Aeian fires. The sound is deafening. There's ringing. A hot wave of liquid splashes over them. Aeian lurches forward, nearly slipping on the goop and vomits on a fresh patch of grass. Her eyes are wet, sticky, she has to blink too many times to see.

Gunshots continue to fire in the distance. Neaira takes her arm and pulls her, gun firing as they move. It's starting to rain. The previously bright sky is giving way to gray. Teeth snap at the air, howls fill the approach of night. Aeian fires her gun several times over until the gun overheats and there's nothing left to threaten anymore.

She pants for breath. Neaira pats her shoulder. Samira approaches with a grin, along with another pack of commandos. This was easy, all things considered, but they aren't without casualties or injuries. They stoop and help the 'rescue' team to their feet. They patch who they can and mourn those that must be left behind. The shuttles have left for the time being for shelter. If they lost the shuttle and were stranded they would lose everything.

There's a farm in the distance, sanctuary.

* * *

"I thought they were going to get to us. We've been hearing them get closer."

The human girl—Aeian can't tell how old she is, it's hard with short lived humans— is afraid but her eyes gleam excitedly. Her freckled face is smudged with dirt, blue eyes bright and defiant.

"If it wasn't for us, I'm sure they would have, human," Samira tells her, looking around the landscape. The farmers look thin and frightened, wary, no doubt, of the asari squad that has landed. Aeian wonders how much time they've spent with her kind, if any.

"By that she means she's glad you're all okay," Neaira says with a half-hearted roll of her eyes. Aeian smiles at Samira's obvious irritation. "Manners, Samira?"

Samira scowls again but Aeian doesn't dwell on it. Erisa, the squad commander is taking her arm and pulling her aside. "Hanging in there?" Erisa asks. Aeian nods, flicking some goo off her hands in the process. She has never felt so disgusting. "Dirty work, but someone has to do it. Good job hanging in there. Three weeks and going and you're hardly showing any signs of wear and tear."

"We're commandos. I didn't know 'wear and tear' was an option."

Erisa slaps her arm gently and smiles. "Aren't you tough?" She hands her the radio. "I'm going to take a team to run a few sweeps of the surrounding area. Hang on to this. Stay vigilant. We cleared out that group but there could be more anywhere."

"How many civilians are here?"

"I have someone running the count now. Estimates were about a hundred but it's a small colony and who knows what the latest numbers are. I've counted about forty just walking around. These people are scared and who knows when the shuttles will return. They might have encountered some resistance elsewhere." Erisa says, looking off in the distance. "We've gotta make use of the little light we have left. If something happens, shoot a flare. If we're needed for another operation, use the flare. We'll double back. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'll leave Neaira and a few others with you. Remember, be on your guard. Look around. Figure out how to defend this place if an attack comes. We're a team. As long as we all work together nothing can take us down."

"You can count on me."

* * *

Erisa and the squad she took returns hours later, alive and no Reaper forces to report. The commandos high five, tap fists and hug. They've lost more huntresses lately than they ever have and the war is still in its infancy. The group gathers, sitting on rolls of hay to plan tactics for holding the farm in the case of Reaper forces. They may have landed but they'll need several shuttles to evacuate those left and the planet is rife with people needing to be evacuated. They don't have the resources needed for a quick extraction.

"We should arm them," Aeian volunteers.

"With what?" Samira asks. "Hoes?"

A chitter of laughter travels through some of the younger commandos. Aeian frowns. "With _anything_. We're commandos and we're here to do the rescuing. I get it. But if the Reapers overrun us hiding isn't going to be an option. They'll help themselves, they'll help us if they have anything to fight back. So _yes_, we should let them use some of our reserves. Hoes or pickaxes or scythes won't do against those things, Samira. Unless you want to show us all how to use them?"

Neaira laughs, leaning forward on the bale of hey she sits on. "Samira doesn't need weapons. She can rip anyone apart with her biotics. Isn't that right, hot shot?" She looks at Samira, who has coiled herself in biotic tendrils.

Erisa shakes her head. "Enough, all of you. Get the humans armed. It couldn't hurt things. We'll be rotating through and who knows how long before we can get everyone evacuated. We need every advantage." She stands and looks around. "Everyone find a place to crash for the night. We'll rotate who stays up and who gets some shut-eye. Dismissed."

They all get to their feet, shaking the absurdly bright hay from the black of their leather uniforms. Aeian moves to Neaira who cocks a grin at her. "I can think of a few hos to start arming the farmers with," she says.

Aeian smiles. "Can we just shoot her?" her eyes skirt over to Samira. "Shoot me if I was half as cocky as she is when I first joined the commandos. Did you see her when they came back without reports of scouts? She looked like a kicked puppy."

"You always get the girls who get off on the fighting. Admit it, you wouldn't be here if some part of you didn't get a thrill from battle."

"Fine, I admit it." She looks as she walks, stepping over farming equipment, looking at the primitive torches that keep light in the place. She can see the same girl from earlier on the second story, looking down at her and Neaira curiously. "But this is different. I don't think anyone's ready for this."

"Can anyone be ready for the Reapers?"

"You've seen what they've done to the turians. And those husks," she shivers. "I don't want us to end up like that. Tool for the Reapers?"

"That won't happen." Neaira grips her arm. Aeian stills. "I've got your back. And Samira may be a smug shit but we need that kind of fire right now. Don't let this beat you down." Her hand slides away from her arm, she looks away reluctantly. "Goddess. How do things change so quickly? It seems like it was only yesterday we'd never heard of the Reapers. Now life as we know it may be at an end."

"Weren't you the one just telling me not to get beat down by all of this? I wish everything was different."

"No one more than me." She shakes her head. "Let's stop talking as if this is the end of everything. It isn't." She touches Aeian's face. Aeian flicks her eyes away, her face warming beneath Neaira's fingers. Neaira chuckles, inclining her head up. "Looks like you've got a fan. I'm going to find a place to crash."

"You're not—"

Neaira cuts her off. "Not tonight." Aeian grows warmer still, embarrassed. They're commandos. They have to sleep in tight quarters. They often do. They have to be professional. Aeian knows she can't be with Neaira but she enjoys the little moments they share. "It's… harder lately." She squeezes her hand and moves away.

Aeian tries not to feel the empty, vacuum feeling growing inside her. From the second story of the farm, the freckled red-headed girl peers down at her, raising a tentative hand to wave, a nervous smile on her lips.

* * *

The farm girl's name is Hilary. Aeian climbed a rickety ladder to the second story of the farm, taken aback at the space and furniture above: a couch, a small bed and a few worn books. Aeian's surprised the humans aren't duking it out for the spot. "Nice digs, Kid. Where are mommy and daddy?"

"Mom's gone. Dad's showing your people around." Hilary crashes back onto the couch. She's restless. Aeian can't blame her. A minute later Hilary's leaning forward, watching her movements. "Can I hold your gun?"

The girl has been following her like a clingy puppy. Aeian is run down but if a fifteen-year old human girl is the worst she has to contend with, she'll take it. She needs a rest. She wonders where Neaira has gone. "A gun isn't a toy." Hilary pouts. "They're not for kids." Her lower lip juts out further. Aeian sighs, turns the safety on and hands it to her. "Never, ever point that at anyone unless you're ready to shoot."

"It's heavy."

"You'd probably be better off with a stick if those things come." Hopefully that won't be necessary.

Hilary stands, lifts the gun to point it at the wall. What looks to be a family picture hangs in a wooden frame. A younger Hilary is in the picture, along with what's probably her father and a soldier in an Alliance uniform. She sees Aeian looking. "My brother's a pilot. I haven't seen him in a while, but he sends emails and vids." She stops suddenly, whipping to look at her excitedly. "Do you know someone named Liara? Or is it Riala? She's an asari."

Aeian smiles wryly. "We don't all know each other." She extends her hand and Hilary dutifully returns the gun. Aeian holsters it. "Ever been to space?"

"Not yet. But I want to go. I want to be a pilot, too. Just like my brother."

"What's your brother's name?"

"Jeff."

"What's he like?"

"Awesome. He's like the best pilot, ever. He can be a tool, though." She falls back onto the couch again. "Whenever he makes fun of me, I threaten to kick his ass."

"Terrorizing younger sister, huh?" She looks at her. "Are you the only kid here? I thought the kids were evacuated a few weeks ago."

"Hey, I'm not a kid. I'm fifteen." Hilary explains. Aeian waits. "A few shuttles came a while back and took everyone else. The other 'kids'," she uses her fingers to quote. "But I didn't want to leave Dad. Jeff's gone, so's Mom. I didn't want to leave him alone."

"I see. That was brave of you."

Hilary looks sad for a moment and then brightens. "Is it true that asari strip through their teenage years?"

Aeian glowers. The nerve of this human. Yes, there were several friends that decided to go into dancing at clubs. Aeian wanted something more adventurous. She never regretted it. She still doesn't. And she wouldn't have met Neaira at a club on Omega. Still, shaking her ass at a club doesn't sound half so bad anymore. "Do I look like a stripper?"

Hilary looks her over, pulling her knees into herself. "I guess not. Unless all strippers dress in leather and are armed to the teeth." She's quiet. Aeian moves to the ladder to return to the ground floor of the farm. She's got a chance to get some shut-eye and she's going to take it. "Hey. You're going to get all of us outta here, right?" She folds her arms on the arm of the couch and lays her head down. "Jeff pilots the Normandy. But this is just a small, nothing farm colony. Does anyone even care about Tiptree?"

Aeian wonders what it must be like to be such a short-lived species. A fifteen-year old is particularly young for humans, she believes. It must be frightening to be so powerless. The girl looks scared. "We're here to help. Don't worry. We're not leaving until you're safe. Okay?"

Hilary, smiles, relieved. "Yeah." She nods. "Okay."

* * *

Aeian watches the shuttle lift into the air, lights pulsing in the darkness. Worried farmers crowd around her watching it go. Aeian crosses her arms. A call on the radio summoned Erisa the other huntresses to a nearby colony where support is needed, another squadron of huntresses is being overwhelmed and the colony on the bring of being overrun. They took the rocket launchers, the assault rifles. Neaira and Aeian are left with only their pistols and a comm radio as lifelines.

"So much for rest," Aeian mutters to Neaira.

"I don't think I could have slept anyway," Neaira's lips hook up faintly. Her smiles are never quite there. Aeian sometimes wonders if she's the only one who sees them. Many of their conversations are like inside jokes. Sometimes she thinks they speak their own language. "Look on the bright side—at least Samira is gone."

"The colony will be saved," Aeian rolls her eyes. "Why did Erisa take the entire squad? Doesn't she know Samira can do it on her own?"

"No doubt Samira will remind her."

Aeian grins. "Do you wish you'd gone with them?"

"I like a good fight as much as anyone… but it wouldn't feel right if I left you here alone." She bows her head, thoughtfully. "I'm not convinced we can guard this place successfully," she confesses quietly. "Wooden structures won't hold up to the Reapers or their forces. The space is just… too open. There's nothing around here to fortify it."

It scares Aeian that Neaira is scared. Aeian turns her face to better look at Neaira. "Hey." Neaira doesn't look up. Aeian takes her hand. Neaira's fingers curl tentatively around hers but she still won't look at her. "Erisa and the others didn't see any scouts."

"But they can arrive so quickly. Out of nowhere—"

"It's going to be okay. We're in this together. You and me, right?"

Neaira looks at her for only a moment. They both look away. Aeian bites her tongue. All these years later and still science hasn't developed a breakthrough to cure the ardat-yakshi. Aeian wonders how lonely Neaira's life must be, how frustrating. Granted, Aeian has gone two centuries without taking a lover—as long as she has known Neaira. Perhaps she should move on. If only she knew how.

Her thoughts are mercifully disrupted. The freckled Hilary is there again, looking between the two of them. "Are you two, like…?"

"No," Aeian says too quickly. Neaira smiles, shaking her head at Hilary. "What is it?"

"When will they be back?" Hilary asks. "Are we stuck here? What if those things show up? I felt better when there were more of you here."

Aeian doesn't tell her she agrees. Did she overhear their conversation? Neaira is all smiles. She ruffles Hilary's hair. "Luckily for you, two commandos are worth twenty soldiers. We're well equipped to kick plenty of ass. Guns have nothing on biotics. We'll keep you safe until the evac shuttles arrive."

Hilary considers this and nods. "They're preparing dinner now. Are you hungry?" Aeian's stomach grumbles. She clutches it absently, wishing she'd fallen asleep before being reminded of her appetite. "It's settled then. Dinner! I never thought I'd have asari commandos eating with us. This is awesome! If I ask you to pass me something, could you use biotics?"

"Yeah, sure," Neaira says.

* * *

Dinner consists of poor vegetables and bread eaten at a large table in the middle of the farm. Aeian doesn't know what animals may have been housed here prior—but whatever they were, they're no more. Perhaps taking care of them became impossible with the Reaper war. It must be difficult to feed animals when you scarcely have resources to feed yourself.

"What's it like being a commando?" Hilary takes a large bite of the hard, dried out bread, chewing for a long while before washing it down with a cup of water. Aeian hadn't expected for water to still be available in planets under attack by Reapers but is grateful for it. "Can humans join? That would be so cool."

"It's not bad," Neaira leans into the table, looking at the farmers gathered around the table. "I don't think a human could make the cut, though. We usually study martial arts for at least thirty years, not to mention biotic studies. That takes centuries."

"So I'd be old before I was any good. Too old to be any good," Hilary mourns.

"I'd say so." Aeian says. "But… it's not all fun. Ships can get gross. And sometimes you're stuck for weeks on end with people you don't particularly like."

"Like that Samira huntress?" Hilary volunteers. "I asked her what it was like to be a biotic and she said I could never know, no matter how simply she put it, just like she'd never know what it was like to dig up dirt for a living." She sighs, wrinkling her face. "What a jerk."

Aeian hides her smile. "She's a good fighter."

"Because she has no soul," Hilary retorts. "Which one of you is the better biotic?"

"Neaira," Aeian knows Neaira has experienced guilt in the past for how her powers were amplified, how she got the power without wanting it. It was something confessed on that dark night when she returned long ago from her absence. Neaira's voice had been hard but her eyes were wet. Neaira doesn't take credit where it is due. Aeian remembers how hard it'd been to not be able to hold her hand during the difficult conversation. She shakes the thoughts away. "But I'm not bad."

"'I'm not bad'," Neaira teases. "Don't ever piss this one off," she cocks her head at Aeian. "She's vicious when she needs to be." Her fingers graze along Aeian's head tentacle briefly removing the hand. Did Neaira experience the same electricity coursing through her, Aeian wonders. It is more than just simple biotic release. "I make it a point to stay on her good side."

"What good side?" Aeian sighs, lifting an arm to examine the sticky goo that sticks to her leather. How long since she's showered? Weeks. Do the farmers think she reeks? Maybe she does and they're too afraid to tell her. "Ugh, I'd kill for a shower."

"You don't have to go that far," Hilary stands. "We have one here. Ah, don't kill me or anything but… you… could use one?" She puts on her best smile.

Neaira stifles a laugh. "_I_ think you smell finer than any rose on Thessia."

"Shut up," Aeian tries not to blush. How pathetic, after all this time. The farmers watch them, curious and smiling, a welcome change from their previous timid, frightened expressions. "I'll take you up on that offer." She looks at Neaira. The comm radio rests on the table. Aeian thinks of grabbing it but is sure she or Neaira will hear it if Erisa or the others think to make contact. "I won't be long."

Neaira nods, lifting a hand to wave. "Don't hurry on my account. The scene's dead. Enjoy your shower. I'll take care of things here."

"If you hear anything—"

Neaira stands. "I'll get you. Shower or not." She crosses her fingers. "Promise." Aeian nods. "I'm going to take another look around the parameter before we settle in for the night. See if there's any improvements to be made." She touches Hilary's shoulder. "I'm leaving Aeian in your hands. Take good care of her, all right?"

Hilary beams.

* * *

The shower is in a cozy bedroom with a small, simple twin bed with thin, worn sheets. Aeian skirts her fingers along it before thinking better of touching other's belongings. Another framed picture sits on the nightstand, this one older, of Hilary's father and a woman. Hilary's mother, perhaps? Aeian unholsters her gun and sets it on the nightstand.

She strips. The leather always takes a few minutes but not so many as it takes to don it. It sticks to her as she peels it away, some of the goo having soaked through, leaving sticky, pungent liquid on her, the remains of Reaper blood, if there is such a thing.

The shower is tall with walls that press on her. Small, white tiles line the walls. They look old, faded and cracked. When the water comes on it doesn't matter. Hot and cleansing, it washes over her. Aeian closes her eyes and tries not to think of the past few weeks.

It's remarkable what bodies are capable of. Even commandos aren't used to such long, uninterrupted fighting with little rest. Maybe when it's all over they can brag to the other races of their superior abilities, their contribution to the war effort. Maybe they'll all get medals.

How are things in Thessia? She thinks of her home planet and the colony that Erisa and Samira have gone to. They're all huntresses with a remarkable and frightening gift for killing. What they do is no longer sport. It's hard to think that all life may soon be wiped out.

She's grateful Neaira was left behind. Huntress or no, Aeian worries when Neaira is on missions she isn't a part of. They're a squad but she and Neaira have paired up more often than not. They know how each other thinks, how they fight, they can fight, like a mirror, in perfect unison, graceful and deadly.

The water relaxes her. Neaira should have a shower as well. Aeian prompts herself to hurry but leaving the hot water is difficult. Her imagination runs away from her. She thinks of Neaira walking through the door, joining her, the two of them pressed—

"Stop it," she mutters. She forces the thoughts from her mind. Wipes at her eyes as if somehow she could erase her desires. Maybe she should leave the squad. Maybe she should go to Omega and do some work for Aria T'Loak. Is she still there? She heard a rumor that she might be on the Citadel but can't fathom why she would be. She hears a muffled voice, looks towards the bedroom but it doesn't come again.

She considers the plan again. After the war she could leave. Maybe she could work in Illium. There's gotta be work there, right? But could she leave Neaira? They're partners, best friends… huntresses. They don't abandon one another.

Hilary's voice banishes the thoughts, coming from somewhere outside the bedroom. "There's a… tall asari here…!"

"What?" Aeian cocks her head to listen. "What was that?" She calls again. No answer. "Are they back already?" And here she was so worried. Erisa, their fearless leader is one of the most capable people Aeian has ever known. Even Samira has earned some right to her cockiness. Aeian should have known they wouldn't be long. Maybe they've brought back other huntresses to help fortify the farm.

It does mean an end to the shower. She sighs, finds a towel folded over the shower curtain and wraps it around herself. She already misses the heat of the water.

The tall, hunched figure that comes through the bedroom door is… Aeian's breath strangles her, lodging painfully in her throat. A thing. A reaper thing. An asari reaper thing. How did it get past—how did—where did—she wasn't in the shower for more than—

The thing is—emaciated, naked and barbed. Aeian focuses on it's jagged edges, the knife like tentacles, razor sharp claws and synthetic blood that flows through it almost crudely drawing attention to its breasts.

It sets its sights on her and wails a loud, miserable sound that makes it impossible to think, to stand. Aeian stumbles back, hits the wall. A frame falls over.

Its eyes. She can't look away from—

A voice is pressing into her mind, pounding against it, a familiar— memories. Memories of her. Memories of Neaira. Neaira's voice.

_Ae…i…a…n._

Aeian presses to the wall, unaware of how she tries to keep the towel up, unaware of how she hyperventilates. Neaira. Neaira it's her. It's her. No. No. Goddess, no. Tears spring to her eyes. Despair and rage at the unfairness of it all crush her.

They scream at the same time.

Hilary shrieks.

Husks begin pouring into the room.


	2. Hilary

A/N: Thanks to the folks who read and took the time to review this! Also, thanks to the Allusive Man for letting me bombard him with my writing and giving feedback. Much appreciated. This is the end for this story, unless I decide to check in on Aeian in the future. I'm hoping to write more on the general war stories heard throughout the game.

* * *

_Embrace eternity._

Aeian wanted that once. When Neaira's eyes go black all Aeian feels is terror. She's just out of the shower. Moments ago her limbs had been loose, relaxed. Now they're stiff, locked, her movements stilted. She's gasping.

The husks are everywhere. Run. Run. She needs to run. Neaira reaches for her. This won't be like her caresses of the past. Aeian ducks her touch, knowing she could be reduced to ribbons. The husks are growling, teeth gnashing. Humans. Farmers? Where did they come from? A ship or the farm? She wasn't in the shower that long. It doesn't make sense.

The husks are blasted back before she knows she's done it. She hyperventilates and runs on awkward legs. Past Neaira who slowly turns to look at her. Hilary is cowering in a hallway corner, murmuring, hands covering her face. Run. Run. What are you doing, girl, run.

Aeian can't talk. Neaira is close but leaving the girl would be murder. Aeian hurtles down the hallway unsteadily and grabs Hilary's arm. "We have to go," she jerks her to a standing. Husks are crawling out of the room, legs mangled off, still pushing forward, like mindless zealots.

Ahead, Neaira touches a farmer, gums and teeth bared in a frightening grin. The farmer splatters, blowing apart in every direction. Hot blood splashes on Aeian and Hilary. Hilary screams again. Aeian doesn't let go of her arm, she pulls her and runs. The farmers are panicked, horrified. They look at her and Neaira—their guardians.

The look of betrayal in their eyes doesn't last. Neaira turns them to liquid. Others she tears apart. It's chaos. The farmers run but Neaira catches them. Aeian knows how to dodge, how to hide in plain sight. The farmers provide cover for her escape.

It doesn't take more than a minute but it feels like hours by the time they make it outside into the cold night. Aeian's lungs are burning. There is a foul taste in her mouth. She doesn't know if it's blood or goop, or the taste of her failure, the abandonment of her duty.

Hilary is struggling, slowing them. "My dad is still in there!" Hilary yells when Aeian slows enough to let her speak. "I have to go back, you have to let me go back, we have to save him!"

"If you go back in there, you're dead!" Aeian grips her arm more tightly. "I'm sorry." A fountain of words remain lodged in her mouth. She dams them. Anything else she could say would be self-pity.

They head for the hills, Neaira's and the farmers wailing following after them.

* * *

She left the gun and the radio.

How could she? What was she thinking? Why did she shower? Why didn't she think to take the gun when Neaira came? She's a huntress, damn it. She's trained for centuries.

Goddess.

They sit atop a hill, cold, frosted grass beneath them. Aeian wraps her arms around herself and exhales white fog. Hilary weeps, sniffling now and then before breaking down into sobs again.

"The shuttle will be back soon," she tells Hilary. If they survived whatever support mission they got called to. If they didn't… No. She can't think that way. "I don't see any of those things around here." Neaira is one of those things now. Is this why the humans and the turians were so terrified? Aeian considered Neaira the most beautiful asari she'd known. To think that she was turned into that… Why her? How? She was the best of them. She always knew what to say, what to do, to make things better. And now…

Tears roll down her face. She's thankful for the cover of night and the brief, heat along her face. She brings a hand to her mouth, fingers curling into a fist. She bites down to keep herself from making any sound. She'd hate to scare the girl.

"I wish Jeff was here," Hilary says brokenly. "You said you'd take care of us. You promised you'd get us out of here safely. I bet Commander Shepard could have helped us."

Aeian's voice is barely there. It quivers, much as she fights to keep it steady. "I didn't mean to lie to you. I wanted to help. We wanted to help."

Hilary cries too heavily to hear her.

* * *

Aeian doesn't sleep. The night passes without incident. Screams waft through the air like a discordant symphony. Aeian wonders how many Neaira has killed now. There's been no sight of the shuttle.

Maybe she should have told Neaira she loved her. That thing, that reached into her mind… that imposter, masquerading as Neaira, did she know? Did it move her? Neaira was always the better huntress. How did she escape? Did Neaira let her escape…?

Aeian loses herself in thoughts of her.

The sun rises too slowly, staining the hills and landscape a pale red. Hilary is curled on her side, awash in blood and goo that has caked to her face and arms, clothes. She must be freezing. Aeian wishes she could help her, warm her, but what has she got besides a towel?

Hilary's eyes open with difficulty. She groans softly and looks at her. Aeian stares back, lacking the energy to muster even the faintest of encouraging smiles. "Is the shuttle here?"

"Sorry, no."

Hilary sits up. "It's freezing." She begins to yawn but doesn't finish. She rubs her face and looks at her bloodstained hands. "Do you think my dad is okay?" Aeian attributes the hopeful nature of her voice to her youth. This farm girl, fragile and powerless holds hope that Aeian isn't sure exists.

"I hope so." The breeze picks up. How much longer can they stay out? Will those things find them? Aeian's eyes are fatigued. "The shuttle should be here soon."

"Maybe that Samira will come back. She's a good fighter, right?"

"…Right."

"Where's Neaira…?"

Aeian bites her tongue. Minutes pass. "I don't know."

* * *

Afternoon arrives.

Night falls again.

No shuttle.

The stars are specks in a black sky that is only occasionally illuminated by a decimated airship.

"I'm hungry," Hilary says.

"What do you want me to do about it?" Aeian swallows the lump in her throat. She's hungry too. There's no food nearby. No wildlife to feed off, no rations. Hilary turns her head as if she's been slapped. "I'm sorry, I just don't know how to help. The shuttle should be back soon."

"It's been a day and it's not back. What if it doesn't come back?" Her voice wavers and Aeian is unsure if she's only stung from her words or simply weak and exhausted. Maybe all of it. "What are we going to do?"

"We wait. That's all we can do."

"Aren't you a biotic? Can't you go back there—you said that one of you was worth twenty soldiers?" Hilary pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them. "Commandos can do anything. Right?" Aeian wonders if all the farmers are dead. If more husks and marauders have come. If there are more of what…Neaira was turned into. She doesn't have her gun. She doesn't have her radio. If only she hadn't taken a shower. If only she hadn't let her guard down. Hilary presses her forehead to her folded arms. "I'm so scared."

"Me too." In the past she's undertaken many operations, painstakingly planned. Most she did with Neaira, but even the ones she undertook on her own went off without a hitch. She knows the enemy, she knows the layout, but this is different. Returning before the shuttle does would be suicide. Her biotics are strong but that creature Neaira was changed into…. She's never seen even the matriarchs wield that kind of power.

Aeian grasps the grass absently, pulling out blades. Her stomach turns from hunger. She experimentally brings the grass to her lips and chews. Hilary watches her cautiously before doing the same. She makes a face but collects another few handfuls and eats them. Aeian follows suit. The grass is cold. It has no flavor that she can identify other than that of grass. It cuts along her tongue.

"You have grass on your face." Hilary tells her. Aeian searches for it, not finding it before Hilary starts to giggle. Aeian smiles. "Your towel is all dirty. Didn't you just take a shower? Maybe you shouldn't have taken a shower. Maybe I shouldn't have offered."

Aeian laughs awkwardly. Soon they're both laughing so hard they're crying and hunched over. "We have to be quiet," Aeian warns her, "those things might hear us."

But they can't stop. Aeian wonders if they've lost it.

* * *

The rising sun sheds light on marauders moving across the hills.

The shuttle still hasn't arrived. The night was spent huddled together, hungry and cold, their hope slipping by the moment. They keep low to the ground and watch the twisted turians roam the land. There don't appear to be many of them.

"I have to get a weapon," Aeian says. She's been obsessed since leaving her pistol at the farm. Those turian things shoot at them—whatever they use, it looks different from what the cannibals and… what Neaira… If she can get her hands on a weapon, maybe she can get back to the farm, get the radio, call the shuttle back.

"A weapon? How? At the farm?"

Aeian nods to a marauder in the distance, some three hundred feet removed from the others. It's possible that cannibals are on the way or maybe he got separated from the others. She has no idea what their intellectual capabilities may be. They can fight. Is it a trap? Returning to the farm would be easier if she had a weapon.

She has to try. She's a huntress. This shouldn't scare her. She's weak and dizzy. Her head feels as if it's taken a shotgun blast. "You stay here."

Hilary takes her arm when she stands. "Will you be okay?"

"Yeah." Aeian rips the towel around her and fashions it into a tunic. She needs it to stay up if she's going to be fighting anything. She ties it tightly at the shoulder and looks at the distance she must cross. Normally she'd wait until night but without weapons, she's at a disadvantage. She doesn't know that she can afford to wait any longer. She looks at Hilary, face smudged with dirt, eyes circled black, pale and freckled. "If something happens… you have to hide. That's the most important thing. You can't fight these things. Wait for the shuttle to arrive."

"I thought you said you'd be okay," her voice shakes. "I don't want to be out here alone."

"One marauder won't stop me." She turns swiftly, moving stealthily down the hill. Frosty blades of grass stick to her feet. Later they will be soft and wet but the night has been cold. Her breath fogs in the air as she moves. She's an expert at hiding but who knows how many marauders and cannibals are spread throughout the area. The hill has a good vantage point but a ship could show up at any minute.

Everything could go wrong. Again.

She treads carefully, closing in on the marauder's position. She's nearly to him when vertigo hits. Her foot slides across the grass. She bites hard on her tongue to keep from crying out in surprise. For a split moment she is slouched, nausea turning her stomach, making everything spin.

The marauder turns. Sees her. If he shoots it's over. Instinct kicks in. She lifts a hand, ripping the gun from its arms and into her own. It's heavier than she thought but she's comforted. She can breathe again. She can kill again. She's good at that. Everything will be okay now. The marauder growls, launching at her. It's fast but she's faster.

She pulls the trigger. Nothing happens. In a panic, she looks down, is the safety on? The marauder knocks her to the ground. They've hit her before, with the butt of their rifles, sometimes but she's had armor then, a squad. More than a damned towel.

The blow registers. She can't shout; there's no air in her lungs. She tries the gun again but it doesn't respond. A taloned fist raises and she lifts a barrier, blocking it. One swipe could rip her open. He 's propelled away and she scrambles to her feet. The grass is slippery. She throws him and he hurls back, crashing to the ground. It's so quiet except for the movement of grass, some birds in the distance and their grunts as they battle to survive. She needs to survive. She'll do anything to survive.

She races forward, knees still weak and lifts the butt of the gun. She slams the hilt into its throat to keep the thing from alerting anyone. It gurgles and she smiles with relief before bashing the rifle into its skull. Turians have hard heads, they're made of bone, metal and goddess knows what now.

In time she hears a satisfying crack but she doesn't stop. Blue blood and whatever that goop that covers them is slathers her. She can't stop. Over and over again she lifts the rifle, arms aching, until the creature stops moving. There isn't a head anymore.

She stares at the corpse, panting, throat dry. It was always easy before. She didn't have to think of how the creatures were someone's father or mother, brother or sister, daughter or son, husband, wife. Who has she killed? Did their family already mourn them?

Slowly, she makes her way back up the hill, clutching her aching side, dragging the useless weapon with her. The towel stayed up. That's something. But no working gun, no shuttle, no way back to the farm, no food.

Now what?

* * *

Aeian experiments with the gun for hours but gets no results. It's a phaeston—the same as the turians use. It _should_ work but against all reason it doesn't. Aeian sets the phaeston aside and looks at the girl. She's lost weight. They both have. Hilary has become more monosyllabic with the passing hours. Initially she had been gripped by despair, anger, resentment at Aeian for failing in her duty. She'd cried for her family, her mother, father, the brother she hadn't seen in too long before tiring and speaking in a wistful, empty way.

"I really thought I was going to be a pilot," Hilary's eyes are half-open, fingers lethargically threading through the grass. "I was going to show Jeff up. But I wasn't really. I just said that. He's the best pilot in the Alliance. I mostly saw him through vids. He's twice my age and he has Vrolik's syndrome." Aeian looks at her, not knowing what it means. "By the time I was old enough to start remembering things he had enlisted and was training. He once sent a vid saying he wished he could pick me up and swing me around like all those other kids got to be. For a long time I just thought he was lazy. All I ever really wanted was to leave Tiptree and see the world. Jeff's kind of a hero around here. He left. Everyone around here always says they'll leave and do something more than farming but they never do. I mean, Mom did but now Mom—." She stops. Aeian thinks she's finished when she starts again. "I wanted to be different. I wanted to be more than just Jeff Moreau's sister. Even though it's awesome being his sister." She closes her eyes. "I can't believe I'm going to die without ever being kissed. That's so depressing. At least I won't have to be mortified too long about it."

Aeian isn't sure if Hilary's making jokes. It sounds like she is but maybe Aeian doesn't know her well enough. "This isn't over yet."

She faces what she has been denying to herself for days now: the shuttle isn't coming back. Not without a call, anyway. She has to get to that radio. They haven't had any water—at this rate they'll die of dehydration before they starve to death. Hilary lies motionlessly on her side. Aeian nudges her side gently. "Hey." The girl's eyes settle on her, taking some time to focus. "I'm going back to the farm." Hilary slowly begins to sit up. "I'm going to try to get to the radio. If I can get it—I can call the shuttle back here. We can leave this place."

"I'm coming with you." Aeian shakes her head but Hilary takes her arm, her grip surprisingly strong for someone who'd been laying motionless for hours. "I can't stay here. I can't stay here by myself." She looks around fearfully. "Anyway… I have to look for Dad. Maybe he's okay. Maybe we can save him."

"It's not safe. You saw what happened with…" She thinks about the thing that Neaira became. Aeian isn't sure she wants to see her again, wants to battle her. Could she?

"I'm going to the farm," she says again. She gets to her feet. "With or without you." She doesn't wait for Aeian to speak and begins charging down the hill.

"Wait." She doesn't wait. Stubborn human. Aeian doesn't know how to keep her on the hill. Leaving her would be dangerous. She catches up with her. "If you're coming with me, we do it my way. Follow my lead and be quiet."

Hilary nods grimly.

* * *

The trip to the farm takes longer than Aeian anticipated. She isn't sure if it's the exhaustion that makes it seem longer or if in their initial terror, the night of the attack, they ran in a panic for too long. They avoid the marauders. Hilary is a quick learner, imitating her movements well enough to not give them away.

They come across a broken fence along the way. Hilary looks at a broken section wrapped in barbed wire. "This used to keep the cows in." She tells Aeian quietly, stooping over to pick up the four feet long stick. Aeian helps her rip it away from the rest of the fence. "I don't know where they've gone. I guess we're the cattle now."

They keep walking. Hilary has stopped complaining of hunger though now and then Aeian must slow when the girl starts too lag too far behind, catch her breath or fend off dizziness. Aeian worries. Dusk is nearly on them and night will be here too quickly.

They're near the farm when husks begin to straggle out. Just three of them. Aeian hits them with enough force that they're thrown near thirty feet away. She glances back at them but they're lifeless. A husk sprints towards Hilary. Her face is hard and determined. Aeian doesn't have a clear view of the husk. Can't get it without hitting Hilary.

Hilary lifts the stick, twisting to the side and swings. The blow nearly takes off its head. It bends sickeningly to the side before falling over. Hilary's expression is one of bewilderment, disgust and pride. She looks at the stick she holds as if it were as mighty as a cannon. The barbs drip blood.

Aeian grins, feeling an inkling of hope. If this farm girl can take husks out, then getting the radio won't be quite the ordeal she thought it would be. Aeian goes to her and nods with approval. "Not your average farm girl," she squeezes her shoulder reassuringly before they sneak up to the farm doors and peer inside. Aeian doesn't see anything immediately. Everything's quiet but there are voices.

"I hear them!" Hilary whispers excitedly. "That's Mary and Chris! I know it!" Her eyes are bright, lively again. She tries to go in but Aeian holds an arm up to bar her path. "I want to find Dad."

"No. The radio first." They won't be going anywhere if she can't get to that. She doesn't like how quiet it is. Where's Neaira?

"I don't see anyone. Weren't there bodies before?"

"They've been cleaned up." But why? Are they making more husks? Did a rescue team come? No. They wouldn't clean up the bodies and leave the farmers. They must be making more of those things. She tries to remember of how many farmers Neaira killed while she and Hilary had still been at the farm. Some had been reduced to bits and pieces, something that would be useless to the Reapers. She hopes, anyway.

The sun is nearly gone. They're both washed in the red light, matching the paint of the farm, the dark stains of the straw covered floor within. If the radio is where she left it, on the massive table in the center of the room she'll have to walk some distance to get to it. "Be on your guard," she says to Hilary and steps inside. The voices they'd heard earlier are definitely those of the farmers.

They creep further into the farm, taking cover by the giant bales of hay, careful to not trip over the farm equipment littered everywhere. Aeian motions to Hilary whenever there's some piece of equipment where it shouldn't be.

The farmers are held not too much further ahead, in simple, steel barred cages. They must have brought those in. They've got their arms tied behind them, some rudimentary farm locks in place. Amazing they haven't escaped. Hilary tries to run to them but Aeian stops her. Neaira is ahead. Hard to think that she can wrap her head around that now: that thing is Neaira. Aeian's lost her. It looks like she's leading the group of husks that are with her. The cleaned up farmers. No way it was going to be that easy. If she had her pistol she could put a bullet between Neaira's eyes. It would be over. Aeian wonders if she's suffering. Aeian wonders if she could do it even with the pistol.

"We have to release them," Hilary says vehemently.

She looks around. There are various hoes, pitchforks, scythes hanging along the walls, littered on the tables. "Fine. If we arm them, maybe we'll stand a better chance at getting out of here. I'll go ahead. Follow on my say so." She walks low to the ground, getting to the cages. The farmers look tired and weak. Aeian pulls at the door. It's latched. She studies the locking mechanism—it doesn't appear to be strong and sure enough with a small amount of biotic force, the door swings open. The farmers remain where they stand. They must be in shock. Aeian beckons Hilary over. "Unshackle them," she says and moves over to the other cage. Hilary goes to them, eyes wet, smile bright still despite the danger. She finds her father, hugs him, though he is unresponsive. Aeian hears her tell him, tell them all that it will be okay.

The farmers remain in the cage even when the second one has been opened. Hilary is nearly through releasing the second set of farmers when one of the ones in the first cage screams. Aeian looks at him in alarm. A second farmer follows suit, then a third, like a wave they each begin to yowl.

"What's going on?" Hilary asks in a panic.

"Get out of there!"

Hilary runs, tries to slam the cage door behind her but it's too late. They push past, streaming out, howling, arms stretched, lunging at them. Indoctrinated. They're indoctrinated. Damn it! Hilary screams, no louder than the shrieking farmers but it's too late.

Neaira turns, eyes still oily black, empty. _Don't do this_, Aeian thinks but whatever that thing is that she became, it's indifferent. Even if Aeian can feel her mind, can see herself in her mind, can see and feel who she used to be. Neaira lifts an arm and husks are lunging at them, goddess, there must be—

A farmer gets its hands on the girl. Aeian shouts. The farmer is cast back, his body slamming into the other farmers. They're undeterred. They get up. They continue screaming. Aeian pushes Hilary behind her. "Run!" They're coming. She reaches her arms out, pulling at the air and a farmer is ripped in half. She flings the torso at another one.

They advance. They're going to kill her. They're going to kill them. She panics. Neaira is still in her mind, pressing into it, her thoughts are scattered. Aeian sees herself, sees Neaira. She sees memories of their first meeting, a younger self, Neaira, things that she wanted to happen but never did, things imagined differently. Neaira's desires? Her own? She doesn't know who thinks what. She only knows to react, to react, she only wants to live.

Neaira eviscerated the farmers before. Aeian fights as if to outdo her. She tears the farmers apart, heads twisted off, limbs severed. It's easy. They're nothing. They're paper. For days she's felt helpless but now she feels good. This is what an asari huntress is. In the end, they always work alone, in the end, they do what they must to get the job done. The farmers stop screeching. She's decimated them, reducing them to something unrecognizable. She sees their spleens and their guts. The floor runs red with blood. It's pooled at her feet. She's drenched in their blood and flesh. She breathes heavily, happily, triumphantly. The victory is short lived.

Hilary is screaming, clutching at her leg.

There are dead husks. Hilary's doing. But the stupid girl has tripped over one of the farm machines. Aeian rushes over and sees bone sticking awkwardly out of her shin. She glances back. The husks are coming their way. Aeian stoops, picks Hilary up, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and yanks her to her feet. Hilary cries out again and when the husks are nearly upon them Aeian pulls at the ceiling, fueled by the terror moving through her, by the adrenaline of her recent kills.

The farm roof collapses, raining over the coming husks, over Neaira. Aeian hopes she got the reapers but who knows. She can still feel Neaira in her mind.

They only have a small window to get to safety. With Hilary's leg in the condition it's in they can't make a run for the hills again. She thinks quickly and summons a warp field, running off desperation. It's massive and booming. It knocks them to the floor and a wall crashes down. It was a desperate maneuver and they nearly pay for it—it stops only a foot above their heads. The space is so tight it's hard to turn, the walls press into their shoulders. There's concrete and wood littered around them. Aeian gasps for breath, getting a mouthful of dust in the process. Hilary is alternating between hyperventilating and crying.

She didn't get the radio. She didn't get the gun.

But it should be okay. They should be okay.

* * *

The dust has settled. It's night and cold again. They've been hiding for hours. Aeian hoped she had killed the reapers but she hears them, moving, groaning, shuffling. She's refined her sense of hearing for too long. They're alive. She didn't get them all. And now, they're trapped. If they're discovered…

No.

There's a light swinging somewhere in the farm. It moves like a pendulum, piercing into the crevices of where they hide and cutting light across their faces. Hilary is crying still. Aeian has tried for hours to comfort her quietly but nothing she does helps. What Hilary needs is medical attention, not words. Aeian's not a doctor. Even if she were, what could she do for her with no equipment? She looks for broken wood to create a splint but there's nothing suitable.

Aeian kneels beside her, a hand to her forehead, stroking her hair. "It's all right," she says quietly to her, "I know it hurts but we're safe here." For the moment. Hilary's eyes go every which way, they lock onto hers, frightened before filling with tears again. "You did well. You're a natural. We'll make a huntress out of you yet."

"It hurts," Hilary whimpers. She pulls into herself, fingers tentatively going to the bone before releasing another little shout of pain.

Aeian's fingers dig unwittingly into her hair. "I know. I know. But you're tough. I know it's hard," she whispers, "I know it hurts but I need you to be quiet." The tears have dried and caked on Hilary's face only to begin again, streaming down her cheeks, over Aeian's fingers. She lowers her face to Hilary's, pressing their foreheads together. "I can hear them out there. They can probably hear us, so please. Please, please, please, I need you to be quiet."

Hilary nods painfully and Aeian's heart swells for this brave girl. "I wanted to save them. I thought I could save them." Her voice is pained, slow, high and then low. Aeian takes her hand. "Dad's gone now, too." Her eyes fill with tears again. Aeian nods. Hilary squeezes her hand tightly, perhaps reading something in her face that Aeian doesn't know is there. "It's okay."

"We'll get out of here," she doesn't know why her eyes are burning. Another nod. Hilary's face is crumpled and pained. She bites her lip so hard it bleeds. Aeian wipes it carefully. Aeian thinks to meld her mind with hers, to ease the pain somehow, to transport her to another place where the Reapers don't exist but for the life of her she can't draw any memories, anything pleasant, to give her some peace. Her mind is still tainted. She can smell the stink of blood on her.

Hilary gasps, letting go of Aeian's hand. "Oh, God. I'm sorry," she breathes hard, the tears spilling faster. "It hurts. It just hurts so much. I'm trying to be quiet. I'm trying—"

"It's okay," Aeian says but it isn't okay. Maybe she imagined hearing them. Maybe—she scoots away from her and looks through a hole in the boards of the wall. Her heart sinks. Neaira is still there, walking in that slow, heavy way of hers, as if she were walking on broken glass. She's close. Goddess, she's so close. Her eyes are still black.

Aeian wonders if her eyes are black.

She killed as many as Neaira did, didn't she? More. Goddess. Is she some kind of monster? Neaira was… that thing when she did those atrocities. What's her excuse? Neaira stops. Hilary's cries are growing louder again. Aeian backs away from the wall, crawling back to her. "They're out there," she says, "I know it's hard, sweetie, but I need you to stop. We're going to die. We're going to die if they hear you. Please, Hilary, please, please," she's crying, "if you're quiet we can hide here. The shuttle might return and get us out of here. You can show Jeff up and be a pilot but not if you keep crying."

Is there something on her face? Is there something terrifying in it? Hilary cries harder. "No," Aeian whispers, "please, no. It's okay, it's okay, it needs to be okay, please," but Hilary's cries grow louder.

Aeian puts a hand over her mouth, forcing her, if nothing else, to keep silent but Hilary thrashes, moves her broken leg in the process and her muffled scream is still too loud. Aeian can hear everything too clearly. They can too. "Be quiet! I'm not going to hurt you—"

Hilary's cries irrationally become louder. They're going to hear. Aeian's breathing becomes erratic. She covers Hilary's nose. Hilary's eyes widen, looks at her, too—intense—too— She can't stand it. "I'm sorry," Aeian breathes. Shakes her head. Sorry. Sorry. So sorry. The swinging light continues. It illuminates Hilary's eyes. Aeian doesn't want to see. Hilary flails. She bites her hand, bites into it but Aeian is strong, she's a huntress, she's known how to be merciless when necessary. "I wanted to get us out of here. Sorry. Sorry. I'm so sorry."

Hilary's body moves, contorting, eyes begging, pleading. Aeian holds her down, irresolute until she's still.

Even in death her eyes are accusatory.

Aeian back away from her mortified. She clasps her bloody hand over her mouth, makes herself hold it there to be quiet. The tears run down her face. What is she? What has she done? What has she done? What she had to. What she had to.

She looks over at the girl's body and curls into herself. What is she? A monster. Is she like Neaira now? And she doesn't know it? Does Neaira know what she is? Are her eyes black? What if her eyes are black?

She brings a hand down fitfully and it touches on a frame. Aeian picks it up. The family picture. Hilary's father. Aeian searches her mind. Her father. She tore him in half not too long ago. The brother, Jeff, smirking, an arm around Hilary's shoulders. Hilary's smile is bright, impish.

Aeian looks away from it. Goddess. Goddess. What has she done? What has she done besides kill them all? She's killed them all.

She looks out the hole in the wall again. No Neaira. No husks. She did it. She did it.

Hours later she hears voices. Is it Neaira, still in her head? Are they the same now? Bullets fire intermittently. Aeian remains, holding her head. She hasn't dared to close Hilary's eyes. She's afraid to touch her. Can't get her eyes out of her head no matter how she tries.

Voices. It sounds like Erisa. Samira. Is it? "Oh, Goddess!" One of them shouts. Neaira shrieks. Aeian closes her eyes. Maybe she should have let Neaira kill her. Maybe. Maybe she isn't worth living.

After some minutes she hears a massive explosion.

Stone and wood dig into her back and legs. Time passes. She doesn't know how much. It doesn't matter anymore. When the wall is pulled away she sees shadows cut into the light. Is that the sun? Is it day? The voices are foggy in her head. Are they in her head? Erisa and Samira pull her to her feet. Aeian clutches the family picture.

Aeian looks back at the girl. What was her name? Hilary. She wonders if she will forget her name. Can forget her name. "They were going to hear," she whispers hoarsely. "Neaira was going to hear." Erisa and Samira exchange glances. Aeian mentions a funeral arrangement. She thinks she mentions a funeral arrangement. They can't leave Hilary. "I promised her we'd get her out of here. I promised her."

The other commandos collect Hilary. They take her to the shuttle.

Samira, Erisa and Aeian linger behind before joining her. They pass an area of the farm that is scorched. Aeian doesn't see Neaira anywhere. Erisa leads Aeian by it gently, as if she were delicate. Aeian looks around wildly. "Are my eyes black? What color are they?"

Samira looks Erisa. _What's the matter with her? _Her eyes seem to ask. Aeian isn't sure if she's asked at all, or if she's peered into her mind somehow. Why won't they tell her what color her eyes are? Have they told her? Maybe they're lying. What if they are black? She can't focus on anything.

If only she hadn't taken a shower. If only she'd had her gun.


End file.
